


Candel Light and Plastic Bats

by Claw_Kraai



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, Choose whichever continuity fits best in your head, Honestly It's Just Set In Gotham
Genre: (This is Gotham. What did you expect?), (all the bats), (i do too), (so many shrines), Bats, Blood, Gen, Here we go, Mentions of Attempted Suicide, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Murder, Minor Injuries, Okay I retagged the whole thing because teh previous tags were a mess, accidental cults, accidental deification, accidental marches, accidental protests, and Commissioner Gordon puts up with so much shit, and Gotham loves him back, and cute, and robin is polite, batman accidentally becomes kinda worshipped, but he loves Gotham, but yeah, catacombs, eventually, he's okay with it though, it needs stiches but still, now for the good stuff, so it's okay, the batsignal is too damn shiny, the people love him, you can't tell me people wouldn't flock to it like moths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-07-18 15:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16121078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claw_Kraai/pseuds/Claw_Kraai
Summary: The People of Gotham are well aware that there is a demon hiding in the shadows of their city. They are also well aware that unless provoked by injustice the demon, the Bat, is benevolent and aids them in their struggles when no one else can or will.The People Of Gotham aren't without honor, they give thanks when gratitude is due.





	1. And though my soul may set in Darkness...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sonzaishinai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonzaishinai/gifts).



> Okay, now this is terrible and so far below my usual standard it's almost laughable but I decided to stop being a chicken and post my first story. I have no idea how this site works and I'm flying completely blind here but you'll have to bear with me.
> 
> I also dedicate this story to Sonzaishinai, or @owlsinyourbelfry as they are known on tumblr, for listening to me ramble on about my headcanons and encouraging me to write this. Here's to you, mon ami! I hope you enjoy it!

The people of Gotham weren’t without honor.

When the news first came in of one of their own being rescued by a shadow it was through whispers in the night. 

Whispers about a benevolent demon, made of smoke and ash,  
who leapt from the shadows and saved a woman from a man she had trusted. A man who had assaulted a woman for the crime of saying “no”.

Whispers about how, when the police arrived, the man was found with four different broken bones and a concussion.  
The woman simply standing there. Shaking, but unharmed. With eyes wide and words on her tongue that spoke of her rescuer, a specter, cloaked in shadow.

The police dismissed the incident, citing shock and adrenaline for the odd description of the good samaritan.  
But the people of Gotham weren’t without honor. 

Those who heard of the miraculous rescue spoke a silent word of thanks to the unknown rescuer. And prayed for a boon for them from whatever god might be out there and listening and moved on.  
What happened in the shadows shouldn’t be dragged out into the light.

With the story told and thanks given, the people of Gotham moved on.  
Heroes were rare and the price they asked for their deeds were equally so. Anonymity and obscurity seemed to be the price asked this time.

The people of Gotham weren’t without honor. They payed gladly.

What no one expected was for the specter to appear again.

And most definitely not twice in the same night.

A lost child, returned to their parents.  
Babbling about a dark giant who had beaten up the bad men that had taken them, like something out of the stories they loved so much.  
Who had dried their tears and asked them about their mommy and daddy, their favorite colors and their favorite foods.  
Who hadn’t answered when they asked them if they were a hero but that was okay because it was probably a secret anyway and did they like cartoons?

The men were later found in front of the police building with a recorder taped to them. A recorder that contained them holding a conversation about what they planned to do with the child. More than one detective lost their breakfast that day.

And a young man, caught out at a time when the streets were not meant to be walked alone and no home to go to.  
He was found shaking and dazed in another alleyway. Surrounded by the unconscious bodies of a group of thugs who had lain in wait for an unsuspecting victim. Though they were unaware they too were being stalked by a larger predator.

A predator who disliked killing its prey apparently. And the young man told of the same benevolent demon as before. Capable of wiping an entire gang out effortlessly and pressing a burner phone already calling the emergency line into his hands before disappearing like smoke.

The police dismissed the testimony again, perhaps out of disbelief, perhaps out of fear. 

But the people of Gotham remembered the woman and her spectral savior, and the whispers carried on the wind once more. Stronger, and longer than they had before. 

The price had been amended perhaps? Acknowledgement instead of obscurity?

The people of Gotham weren’t without honor. They payed their debts.

So, they told the story as often as was safe. In shadows and in whispers, but told it none the less.

But no one could have predicted what would happen in the night that followed.  
Third times the charm, and it seemed like a dam had burst.

Five reports of various people all over Gotham getting rescued.  
Two reports of interrupted drug deals and one failed kidnapping attempt.

The kidnapping victim was a young woman, barely an adult. She was found in a well-lit area nearby a police station with an emergency blanket wrapped around her. Dazed, and with traces of a sedative in her system, but unharmed.

The two sites of the drug deals were found littered with barely conscious and unconscious bodies. All bearing at least one incapacitating injury, if not more. 

Each incoherently babbling about being attacked by a demonic swarm of bats once woken up. With some also reporting one monstrously large bat leading the swarm. 

Each swearing they feared for their lives and being certain that that would be their death. Every single one… but not one corpse. Only breathing bodies.

But it was the eight people rescued where the stories truly veered off into insanity.

The first report was that of an old man who had chosen an unwise spot for his night time bird watching. Rescued from three teenaged boys who had gotten in with the wrong kind of people.  
He described a creature he had only heard of in the sermons given by his preacher when he was a child. A demon, he said. He was rescued by a demon black as night.

Only one of the boys had been found unconscious. Due to a swift strike to the head when he had apparently been foolish enough to charge the demon with only a knife and an overblown ego.  
The other two boys were found huddled around their friends’ unconscious body. Scared and looking more pitiful than a group of kittens in a cardboard box, but mostly unharmed. A demon, they confirmed. Definitely a demon.

The second report was of a couple who had gotten themselves into a sticky situation on the was back from the movies. A gang had thought them easy prey.  
They described a shadow ambushing the gang from behind. Pulling them into the shadows and only showing glimpses of a terrifying visage.

The third was a woman who was ambushed by three men with less than savory intentions. Backed to a wall with a small can of pepper spray, she had been ready to defend herself. When suddenly one of the men got yanked up into the air with the rest soon following. They were all found.  
Tied together in a neat package and hanging from a lamppost. She described a specter. Never even seen but with a voice that sounded like a demonic chorus speaking the same words at the same time. A hundred voices speaking as one.

The fourth was another child, taken from their school that afternoon by their father. Their father who had lost custody on the grounds of abuse, both physical and emotional. 

The child was found with a series of bruises on their jaw but with wide eyes full of wonder as they described a dark hero.  
A hero with careful hands as they looked at the bruises and a soft voice. The hundreds of voices only speaking of safety and comfort.  
A small stuffed bat in their hands that they told the dark hero had magicked up from out of nowhere. The little bat would later be named “B”. “B” because it was Black and a Bat. It would be loved and a source of comfort for many more years to come.

But the last report was the most intriguing.

The last report was that of a small family, mother, father and a young son. They had been heading home after celebrating their son’s eight birthday at a small restaurant. Ambushed by a desperate man who was backing up his demands with a gun, the family had been in a tight spot. 

That is, before what the family could only describe as a rage-filled roar ripped through the small backstreet. A shadow launching itself from out of nowhere at the attacker.  
The man was latter reported to have several major injuries that would require extensive medical attention but he would live.  
Once the man was down however, the shadow didn’t disappear immediately and the family was the first to get a good look at him.

A Bat, they described. A large, humanoid Bat. Reportedly, the Bat stood half in the shadows so the family wasn’t exactly sure as to what they had seen, but they gave a description to the best of their abilities.  
A description that included wings that were draped around himself like a cape and two glowing eyes of pure white that stared at them, almost in shock, before disappearing into the shadows as quickly as he had appeared. 

A description that would have been dismissed outright if it hadn’t been for the small throwing projectile the child had found after the Bat disappeared. 

A throwing projectile in the form of a stylized bat.

The people of Gotham weren’t without honor. They knew when to trust and when to believe.

So the media picked up the story about a new menace on the street and ran with it.  
The people of Gotham looked at the large news outlets screaming death and murder in bright lights and neon flashes.  
They looked, and collectively turned away from the screaming lights into the whispering nights.

The people of Gotham, the true children of the night, the poor and homeless, the down trodden and the hopeless.  
The people who saw Gotham at her worst and loved her still.  
The people that knew hunger and hurt, discrimination and desperation.  
The people the light tried to hide, to cast out, so they wouldn’t be seen, so they wouldn’t be heard. 

They became a part of the shadows, of the darkness, obscured but also shielded and protected by it. Listening to the whispers of the night when the light wouldn’t speak for them.

There were no gods in Gotham, the Whispers and each other were all the people of Gotham had.

Whispering nights that told of a new hero. That told of a young woman rescued from a fate worse than death, her attackers swarmed by bats. 

A boy turned away from a dark path and back towards the gentle light of the living. His guardian staying behind in the shadows so they may find more souls to guide through the dark.

A protection racket broken into a thousand pieces after the dark knight had swept through the old glass workshop they had their headquarters in.

A corrupt politician, whose deeds were thrown out of the protection of the darkness and into the harsh, revealing light. 

A little girl, who found comfort in dark leather wings after watching her mother’s bloodied throat glister under the lights of the streets until she was reunited with her father.

The Whispers In The Night told of a hero who protects, while the Screaming Of The Light spoke of a vile menace who kills.

The people of Gotham weren’t fools. They knew the light well.  
The light in Gotham was different from elsewhere. They knew who controlled the light in the city. The well-lit billboards. The bright screens of the news and the advertisers. The spotlights on city hall, corporate skyscrapers and the police headquarters. 

They knew the ways the screams of light could be used to blind people to a lie. Better than darkness could ever hope to obscure.  
There were no gods in Gotham, so they listened to the whispers.  
Quietly, where light wouldn’t know.  
Listening to the tales about the one who kept them safe.  
A fellow child of the night who had risen to be something greater and was using his gift to help them.

The people of Gotham weren’t without honor. And they showed their gratitude to their hero as much as they could without the light taking notice.

So they left their gratitude in places the light would never find. All over the city, but well hidden.

The first one was stuffed into a corner of the abandoned cellar of old apartment building.  
An upturned crate with an old dish towel over it. A couple of tea lights and a glass figure for decoration. A thank-you letter left in the middle.

The second one was in a small back alley, next to a rusted escape door and in an old crate.

The third, in the catacombs under the city. Officially abandoned but where every true child of the night learned to find their way before they even learned to read.

Small corner shrines, cobbled together by scared but grateful individuals. 

Personal shrines, kept in crates on the rooftop or out back. 

Large community shrines that took up entire basement rooms or abandoned hallways.  
First kept by one person, then two, then seven, then the whole community.  
An open secret never spoken of where the light could hear.  
Maintained by everyone and something to be shown to children as soon as they could keep a secret.  
A safe place for anyone who might need it.

Old crates and cardboard boxes used for tables. Sometimes a real table someone could spare.  
Someone used old barrels in the cellar of what had once been a brewery.  
An upturned row boat in one of the shrines over by the docks.

A table cloth, blanket or rag over it to make it more appealing. Sometimes someone could spare a cloth of better quality and richer patterning.  
Candles. Candles everywhere. Makeshift tables and altars loaded with tea lights and dinner candles. Mood candles and lanterns of every sort, shape, size, color and quality. Candles that only burn at day if the shrine is being visited but are kept burning throughout the night to welcome any visitors. 

Candles placed so that the shadows they cast could easily hide a large man. Entire rooms and hallways lined with candles in the larger shrines.  
Casting their warm light on the shrine, flames dancing whenever someone walks by or a shadow moves.

And in those shrines, they left their thanks. Written on notes or in letters, on any paper they could get their hands on. Small notes with only a few words on it. Heavy envelopes filled with gratitude and information their guardian might find useful.  
Countless letters and notes covering the walls around a shrine, resting on the makeshift tables or stored in boxes underneath them. Letters that might never reach their intended recipient but were written nonetheless.

The people of Gotham didn’t know if the Bat knew of their shrines but it gave them a way to thank their dark guardian, if only in spirit.  
So they wrote their thank-you notes, on sticky notes, paper or whatever else was at hand and left them at their shrines.  
Sometimes one disappeared but whether that was because the Bat had taken them and found use for the information that they sometimes contained was hard to determine. 

It didn’t matter either way, the shrines continued to grow every day.

As did the danger in their city.

 

A half human monster that dwelled in the sewers. The shrines there were immediately abandoned after the first Night Whispers about it did their rounds. No one goes down there anymore.

A man dresses in black and white, a manipulator of the light and namesake of a flightless bird. A fitting adversary of a creature of flight and night.  
Umbrellas are no longer taken inside the shrine with them and are left outside the entrance in respect. They’re always hidden though, you never know who is watching. 

A man, half dead, half alive. Round coins and yin and yang symbols are no longer left or used in shrines.

A mad man, who twists a children’s tale into a nightmare. Taking the children down with him.  
Childish drawings and crayon thank-you letters become a common sight at shrines after the first time the children are rescued. Plastering walls and pillars in shrines.  
These get taken away more often. The children are convinced it is the Bat accepting their gifts.

A Mad Clown. The Bat’s toughest adversary yet. Green and purple become rare colors to be seen in a shrine.

A straw man come to life spreading fear and hysteria with every touch on hallows eve. 

A new tradition was started after his first appearance. A tradition of defiance. 

Now every Halloween each shrine gains a multitude of decorative bats. Some are plastic and store bought. Many are drawn on paper or made of cardboard, made at school and taken home for the shrine. Others are painted, either on the walls or on canvas. 

A few were once alive a long, long time ago, before being stuffed and mounted. Their owners finding the shrines a better fit for them than a museum. 

A special few are the throwing projectiles the Bat seems to favor that can sometimes be found in alleyways and on rooftops.

One is a statue hewn out of pitch-black rock, polished to a sheen. Rumored to have been a project of an art student before being placed at the shrine. It takes up most space in one of the rooms in one of the community shrines down in the catacombs. 

There’s a rumor of one being made of silver and gold, lain in with precious black stones. An heirloom gifted by an old lady after her grandchild was saved by the Bat, they say.

There were no gods in Gotham, but they made their own shrines anyway.

Each new threat and danger changed the city in some way, changed the Bat in some way. The people of Gotham and the shrines changed with them.

Some tried to set up online shrines, places that report the Bat’s whereabouts and stories. They got taken down immediately if they got too free with information. 

The message was received loud and clear: The Bat doesn’t like being tracked or reported on. A great number of people drop them after that. They were meant to show gratitude, not irritate. 

A few online shrines are more careful and considerate. They respect the Bat’s wish for anonymity and obscurity, closely following the spirit of the physical shrines. And with that care comes popularity, but the people of Gotham never truly take to them. 

The light can find them too easily for online shrines to ever truly be as safe and freeing as the physical ones.

The first time someone sees the Bat bleed sends the Whispers spiraling.

The Bat can bleed?

Is the Bat a mortal?

Why put himself in danger then?

The questions simmer through the night.

It’s not long after that someone leaves a med kit for the first time.

The revelation that the Bat is very much a mortal like the rest of them, maybe even human, changes everything and nothing for the people of Gotham. 

They have long abandoned the notion that the Bat may not be aware of their shrines to him. The Bat always seems to know even the most well-hidden secrets of Gotham and this wasn’t even a secret they were trying to hide from him.  
No, the Bat knows about their shrines, sometimes taking some of what is his as well.

But the fact that he bleeds and is most likely mortal like the rest of them give the shrines a whole new purpose.

Med kits become a common sight at shrines. As do thermoses with hot beverages, take away cups of coffee and water bottles.

Food becomes a favored item to leave too. Energy bars, Tupperware boxes with homemade meals and treats in them, sandwiches from the local café wrapped in wax paper.

Places to rest like a large chair or even a mattress become a part of the larger shrines as well, with bells and windchimes added to the entrance so every time someone enters the shrine there is no chance of startling the Bat. Just in case. 

They have long since figured out that the Bat wishes to remain unseen at their shrines, anonymity and obscurity still the only price he demands for his deeds.

A price they gladly pay.

The fact that the Bat bleeds like the rest of them transforms the shrines.  
The candles, the bats, the thank-you notes, the superstitions and traditions of the shrines remain, and continue on as strong as ever.

But now they have the purpose of being functional waystations as well, places for the Bat to rest and refuel on his endless crusade to keep Gotham and its people safe.

The supplies remain untouched.

It doesn’t bother them, it took months for the Bat to even begin taking mere letters of gratitude from the shrines at all.  
Supplies that they could have easily tampered with?  
That will take a while. 

The Bat doesn’t trust easily.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t trust at all.

The first thing taken is a med kit.

For a while it’s only med kits.

Then a bottle of water, seal still unbroken.

Then some energy bars.

Progress is slow and the Bat has an obvious preference for sealed foods and drinks that aren’t easily tampered with. The people take note and start leaving more of his preferred types of food and drink at the shrines.  
Then there are the things he never takes.

The Bat doesn’t take homecooked foods.

The Bat doesn’t take thermoses.

The Bat doesn’t take food made-to-go.

And the Bat never uses the rest places as far as they can tell.

That, and so many other things change once Robin appears.

The light Screams when they first get wind of the Bat’s new companion. Screaming of child abuse and endangerment. Cruelty and forced labor.

The people of Gotham aren’t without honor, and take one look at the light and the Screams. And then resolutely turn to the Whispers.

The Whispers are abuzz with the little song bird’s appearance and how he acts like a carefree and happy child. The little bird seems to delight the Bat and he works as a sort of tempering force on the harshness of the Bat’s tactics. 

Tempering, until the little bird gets harmed that is. No crook is in greater trouble than when they have injured Robin in some way.  
Even Gotham’s gangs know when to cut their losses and avoid altercations with Robin as much as possible to minimize the Bat’s wrath.  
Which becomes a problem when the little bird slips out of the Bat’s sight and goes looking for trouble.

He quickly becomes beloved by the people of Gotham and they aren’t alone in their adoration. The Bat’s love for Robin is obvious to any person who has ever cared for a child. 

The light can scream what it wants, the people know better.

Robin belongs with the Bat, and the Bat is better with Robin. 

Robin is a part of Gotham.

And the shrines adjust accordingly.

Little robins join the bats at the shrines, made from felt, wood, paper, metal and stone.

Thank-you notes and child drawings addressed to both the Bat and Robin start appearing. Along with the occasional stuffed animal for the little bird who seems to delight in them.  
That is, if the Whispers about little Robin seen hugging a stuffed elephant to his chest are to be believed.

And then the homecooked food at the shrines starts disappearing. 

Oh, the people of Gotham are under no illusion that the Bat is eating the food. But Robin apparently is. If only occasionally.

And then other things start appearing at the shrines.

When some of the drawings at the shrine go missing, a bat projectile is left sticking up out of the wood of whatever is being used as a table.

Some food, water and a med kit go missing and a little note with a stylized “R” is left in its place.

A plush bat goes missing and a little thank-you note with a smiley are left behind.

If there was ever any doubt as to whether or not the Bat and his little bird were using the shrines and supplies, it completely vanished after the night shift of one of the community shrines in the catacombs stumbled across the little bird sleeping, curled up in the old arm chair in the shrine.  
They promptly turned around and were wise enough to not look too closely at any of the longer shadows in the shrine.

The Whispers didn’t die down for weeks after that.

The dangers and threats in Gotham still grow more dangerous every day.  
And as much as they would like to, the Bat and Robin can’t protect them from everything at the same time. 

But things are different now, and like the shrines, the more things change, the more they stay the same. 

The light still Screams out the lies its manipulators want it to say, the night still Whispers and cares for her children as best it can.  
The Bat and the little bird aiding the night in making her best a whole lot better. 

The partnership between the people and the Bat is well understood by both parties.

The Bat provides protection, hope and justice when the light will give none. 

The Bat provides the children of the night with a voice when the light won’t let them speak.

The people of Gotham, children of the night, are not without honor and pay for these services gladly.

They pay the Bat in anonymity and obscurity, speaking not a word about the Bat to the light.

They show gratitude with their shrines, providing the Bat with supplies and encouragement.

And when the light Screams for them to abandon their Bat, they turn to the Whispers, the Whispers of their fellow children of the night, instead.  
And they listen to the stories they lived to tell, the scars they lived to show, because of the Bat. The Bat and Robin.

There are no gods in Gotham, but when the people of Gotham look at the shrines, they think they might not need them.


	2. It will rise in perfect Light...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I thought I was done with this story but here we are! Due to a request for another chapter (you know who you are) and ample encouragement I have gained the inspiration and motivation to wrangle this fucking PoV into cooperation one more time! Yeeha!
> 
> Now then! Ladies, Gents and non-binary Ents! _It's showtime! ___

Gotham was a strange and often harsh city for those who truly lived in her heart. 

While humans are diurnal creatures, the children of the night were well aware that the daytime in Gotham was when the predators roamed the streets and skies.

The People of Gotham weren’t fools, they knew better than to live in the light.

Police patrols searching for their next target who would be either too poor or too scared to fight back. 

Corporate figureheads of to their next lunch meeting, sneering down at the common masses that traveled the streets. 

Newscasters who stared down from inside the display windows of stores, blaming the people who had nothing, for everything.

Creatures of the light that had the stench of corruption and indifference ingrained into their every move and word.

The People of Gotham weren’t fools, they had long since learned to keep their heads down in the light so they could survive the day. Had learned to only truly _live_ in the relative safety of the dark night. 

Safety that had only grown ever since the night had gained her guardians.

No one could have predicted how the Bat would change Gotham, not even the children of the night themselves.

The night, now more than ever, was the time to live their lives for those who weren’t safe in the light. 

The streets were safer than they had ever been, fear of the Bat driving the gangs back into their hideouts. A blessing for all who worked the night shifts or had no home to hide in after sundown.

Shelters and soup kitchens had opened up all over Gotham soon after the Bat began operations.  
The light held it that a recently returned billionaire was solely responsible, pumping money into the city like water. But if the Whispers were to be believed, the Bat had had a heavy hand in those projects as well. 

The People of Gotham weren’t fools, they believed the Whispers.

With as often as the Bat directed his fellow children of the night to them, even if he hadn’t had a hand in them it would have only been a matter of time before every single one of the buildings held a shrine. 

As it was, common practice held to visit such a shrine and give thanks whenever the Bat or Robin guided another lost soul through the doors.  
The staff ever so happy to discretely direct their newest arrival to a backroom where they had set up a room-wide shrine, if requested. 

Pens and notebooks were stored in a crate under the altar. Hundreds of stories telling of finding home and hope within the walls of the shelters and kitchens littering the shrine. 

That each of the staff at these facilities were once one of the lost guided in by the Bat was an open secret to anyone who listened to the Whispers.

As much as Gotham and her streets were the territory of the Bat, the catacombs _belonged_ to him. 

What was once simply a safe place to keep larger shrines and withdraw from the violence above ground has become a true interconnected hub where the presence of the Bat was near all-encompassing.

The tourist routes were kept clear, the tunnels that led further into the catacombs and away from the tour routes blocked off long ago.  
Visitors assumed it must have been by the organizations themselves, the guides knew better than to tell management of the blockades. 

They weren’t fools. They too lived safer in the dark.

No criminals dared to go underground anymore. The light Screamed for days after the last gang that had tried had been found, left securely tied up and dangling from the rooftop ledge of the police precinct.

The Whispers carried for weeks.

None of them, not even his greatest adversaries, were foolish enough to challenge the Bat again in his own domain.

And it was _his_ domain. 

Shrines decorated the twisting tunnels. 

Miles upon miles of stone hallways bathed in the fiery glow and twisting shadows cast by seas of candles. 

Bats and robins were painted onto the arches of entryways to shrines, each drawing unique in its style and pattern to indicate which shrine lay beyond.  
A functional grid of street signs for the maze of tunnels that the people of Gotham navigated with an ease that spoke of years of experience.

But if the catacombs were viewed by the Bat as his domain, to the people of Gotham they were _home_.

Nowhere else in Gotham was the presence of the Bat stronger than in those tunnels and it wasn’t unusual for people to seek out the safety and supplies that presence created. 

Some came down to the tunnels for a place to recollect their thoughts, a place to be alone. Some came because they had nowhere else to go.

The Whispers hummed with the tales of desperate vagabonds or scared runaways who had spent the night in those tunnels, seeking the security of a protected area free from the monsters that roamed the streets and the supplies of unguarded food, water and medicine. 

The Whispers told how they fell asleep only to be woken up by the smell of smoke, the rustling of capes and two soft voices that sounded like a million souls all speaking at once. 

All found the safety they sought in those tunnels, just not always in the way they were expecting.

But even for all those stories, the Bat and his little bird remained elusive sights, never seen unless they wished to be seen.  
Never staying longer than they needed to before disappearing with the rustle of a cape and the shifting of a shadow.

That all changed in one night.

The People of Gotham weren’t fools, they knew the Bat could bleed. 

The scent of rust clung to him like a curse after each fight with his monstrous adversaries and red sometimes stained his pitch-black wings.

What they never expected to _see_ him bleed.

It happened on a night when the skies had burst open in an angry torrent of rain and misery. With rain that heavy, no one walked the streets on such nights unless they absolutely had to.

The catacombs were bustling with activity however. Buried deep underground and out of the rain’s way, the tunnels connected a great number of the old buildings in the city and were an alternative route for many people. 

A discrete and fast way to travel, the people of Gotham often used them when the streets weren’t an option or unpreferable, their incredible depths isolating them from the world above.  
But more than a few groups were traveling not to avoid the wrath of mother nature, but as the night shift in the upkeep of their local shrines.

With candles needing to be replaced, lit or moved, spoiled food needing to be disposed of, supplies needing to be checked for tampering and all manner of minor tasks needing to be done, the people of Gotham had long since realized that the shrines required constant upkeep in order to remain presentable and many hands made light work. 

That, and that the upkeep of the shrines made for an excellent excuse to meet up with friends, family and neighbors to talk, laugh and share news.  
Was it any wonder that shrine keeper shifts tended to made up of tightly knitted groups? 

It was one such group of shrine keepers who found their shrine not as empty as they would have expected.

A small group that would serve as the night keepers of an old residential building, all old friends of each other, who were heading down into the shrine. Laughing together while ringing the bells and windchimes as they descended to warn any shadows of their approaching presence.

As they made their way into the shrine none of them would notice the beads of blood on the dirt floor, nor how some of the candles seemed to cast longer shadows than normally.

What they did notice was the feeling of being watched.

And that one of the new med kits was missing.

They chose to do what any sane person would do, and made to leave immediately.  
That was when they saw what was watching them and they froze in place. Two glowing white eyes that shone like pearls amongst the shadowed stone of the chamber. 

Right besides the entrance.

A med kit lay discarded off to the side.

The bells had done their job, they had warned their visitor, he just hadn’t been able to get away in time.

The people of Gotham weren’t fools, the med kit was more than enough for them to realize what their arrival had just interrupted.

And now they had a wounded shadow backed into the corner of their, no, _his_ shrine. 

A shadow whom they knew to be more dangerous than any demon that roamed the streets.

A shadow with a trail of blood leading into the darkness he was using as cover.

Both sides stared at each other, one in shock, brown, blue and green eyes looking on in startled confusion.  
The other in what may have been described as pained suspicion and panic, shining white eyes glaring out from the shadows.  
The sound of dripping blood hanging between them.

Something needed to break the shock-induced stalemate they were at.

Or some _one_.

Later, some would swear it was a sign that Gotham looked out for her champions in her own twisted way.  
Others would say it was the night who was watching over her guardians.

For within that group was a woman, small, diminutive and timid, but with an inner fire to rival that of a blazing star. 

A woman who had dedicated her life to preserving that of others.

A doctor.

A healer.

And someone who was brave enough to step towards a cornered shadow and hesitantly introduce herself.  
Brave enough to try and put the feared Bat of Gotham at ease while they could hear his blood drip onto the floor.  
Brave enough to talk about anything and everything.

Telling the Bat about her cat, her daughter, her friends, their evening, that they knew he was wounded, her willingness to help, asking him to step out into the light so they could see him. All the while the two glowing eyes stared at her, watching and judging her every movement and word.

The people of Gotham weren’t fools, they knew the Bat didn’t trust easily.

That didn’t mean he didn’t trust at all.

And as the woman told the wounded guardian of everything and anything that came to mind, they saw how the eyes rose up in the darkness, the figure they belonged to uncoiling from a defensive crouch.  
A vague silhouette forming in the dark now that his form was no longer concealed. The form of a shadow emerging from the dark, easily towering over most of them.

The unnerving white eyes looking straight at each of the shrine keepers before lowering to the woman still resolutely standing before the imposing figure, looking back with a lack of fear that spoke of understanding and trust.

And with a sound that might have been a laugh in another life, the Bat pulled his wings aside to reveal a patch on his side where his armor had been removed, showing a long gash that wept rivulets of blood that trailed down along his armor.

The woman would waste no time in moving slowly but deliberately towards the shadow she had taken on as her patient, commandeering her friends to gather the supplies she would need as she inspected the wound. The Bat silently standing there, still and unmoving but for his head, which followed the people around the shrine and occasionally observing the woman as she prodded his wound.

With the supplies gathered from the various med kits and with each person given their role by the woman, she went to work, disinfecting the wound, burning the needle and pulling the skin together. 

The Bat remained utterly silent throughout the procedure, merely looking on as the woman threaded the needle through his skin with what would be called curiosity in any other individual.

A strange but comfortable silence enveloped the odd gathering, only broken when the woman called for her companions to hand her the supplies she needed, earlier conversation forgotten in the face of her concentration.

When she finished stitching the wound with a final swipe of antiseptic and a swath of gauze she stepped back, the Bat meeting her eyes with his own glowing gaze before inclining his head in gratitude.

And with a flare of his cape that dimmed the candles for an instant and rustling of leather wings he was gone, leaving only the blood on the ground and the smell of smoke as proof he was ever there at all.

With the Bat gone, the shrine keepers stood there, frozen with none knowing for how long. The woman the first to snap out of her daze, she alerted the others to the supplies still strewn all over the shrine.

Regaining their composure, they did what they did best, relighting any candles that had been extinguished and placing the remaining med kits back where they belonged.

The bloodied dirt was swept up and disposed of, the people of Gotham knew better than to leave such a loose end and they knew better than to believe the Bat wouldn’t return later to take care of it if they didn’t.

They returned home in silence.

It was a silence that was never meant to last.

The Whispers rattled the stones of the catacombs once the shrine keepers gave their story, sending shivers through the people with the force of their words, drawing in listeners like moths to a light.

It wasn’t long before all the people of Gotham knew the tale of the wounded Bat and the brave healer. Whispered over the embers of a fire or in the shadows of a back alley, until it seemed the very city had the words carved into her bones.

As so much did concerning the Bat, it changed everything and nothing.

The catacombs remained the domain of the Bat, full of shadows and illusions of the light, shrines tucked into chambers and supplies no one would search for if they went missing.  
A world onto its own, where the struggles of life in Gotham lessened, if only for a precious moment.

The Bat remained as elusive and obscure as ever, a rare sight to see outside of his battles, with only glimpses of a shadow seen dashing between the spires and gargoyles, gliding across the skies on wings that seemed to dissolve in shadow upon touching the ground.

Even in the interactions the children of the night had with their dark guardian he was unchanged. Silent, stoic and otherworldly. The knowledge that he could be wounded never diminishing the aura of myth and legend that surrounded him like a halo of smoke and mist. 

It didn’t bother the people of Gotham, there was a strange comfort to be found in the fact that their protector remained unchanged even as he bled. Silent compassion and concern still ever present in his every move towards his unfortunate wards. 

The new found knowledge that even as the city gnawed at their bones, finding new ways to shatter and break every day, the Bat would remain unchanged in his care for his fellow children of the night, reassured them.  
Their Bat ever the Dark Knight of a twisted but beautiful city, home to her bruised and broken people.

The People of Gotham were no fools, they knew they were damaged people, chipped and cracked all over. But it was in this they found their own, their pieces fitting together like a twisted puzzle. None of them whole, but none of them alone. All People of Gotham.

It went unspoken that the people of Gotham trusted the Bat and would remain loyal to him until the light cut them all down for their defiance.

That they would listen to the Whispers even as the Screams became louder.

That they would trust their Bat.

What they never expected was for their Bat to be broken as well. For their Bat to fit into their broken puzzle like a center piece they had been missing all along. 

The People of Gotham weren’t fools, they knew that their Bat was a fellow child of the night. They had just never thought of what it had taken for him to get there.

Now they knew.

And even as the city remained the same, even as they continued on as always, they now carried in their hearts one truth.

They trusted their Bat.

And their Bat trusted them.

And even as the light Screamed and her manipulators tried to swallow the city whole, the People of Gotham knew that they would have their Bat, always watching over them from his shadowy perches amongst demons of granite and lime.

And they would watch over him, the light would have nary a scrap of information on the Bat, the catacombs and shrines forever a secret kept by those who lived in Gotham’s dark heart.

For they were the children of the night, as the rains belonged with Gotham, so did they belong with their Bat.

And when they listened to how the Whispers spoke of the Bat and the Healer, they thought that maybe their Bat belonged with them as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few quick notes, I looked up how to do basic html so now this story has _italics _. I know, I'm very proud of myself. This chapter is a bit shorter than I would have liked but eh, we'll deal. And finally, please notify me of any typos, I went over this story with a fine toothbrush but some may still be in there. That's all.__


	3. For I have loved the Stars too fondly...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so thanks to sheankelor *glares* what should have been a one-shot and then a two parter, has now become a three parter! (trilogy? whatever.) I have no idea how I managed over 3000 words in about two days but I'm not questioning good fate. I'll ramble on a bit at the end _but for now!_
> 
> _Ladies, Gents and Non-binary Ents! It's show time!_

The People of Gotham knew the value of loyalty. After all, their lives depended on it daily.

In Gotham there were few allies to count on and many enemies to be made every day by simple virtue of existing. Trust was a rare commodity that long surpassed gold in value on the streets of Gotham. Gold could buy connections and loyalty, but gold could buy abandonment and betrayal as well. Not that the people of Gotham had much wealth to begin with.

The people of Gotham had long since learned to be wary of outsiders, no one knew how to close ranks quite like the children of the night did. It left them with little support from others, not that many would wish to help them anyway.

Any outsiders that offered aid were far more drawn to the shining, glittering light that cast its blinding rays long from the top of its gothic towers that housed the public offices and glass skyscrapers that were home to the powerful and wealthy. 

For all that the light Screamed, it could Sing so sweetly and seductively as well. 

The night only had her Whispers shared by her children and the Melodies that lulled them to sleep.

Few ever even saw the children of the night, the light keeping them in obscurity and silence. Not helped by their own inclination towards the dark shadows of the city. Their daily survival isolating them from the rest of the world’s view.

Not to mention that their isolation left them with bitter few connections. The only people who ever joined them being outsiders driven into the city with little wealth or power, practically children of the night already in all but name.

It left many of them broken. But in their breaking, they found some comfort as well, raised scar tissue fitting well with pits of despair. Shared cracks and fractures piecing them all together into a whole, never the same as it was before, but easy enough to love as something new.

It gave many something who had nothing else.

The People of Gotham knew the value of loyalty, once a child of the night, one never did truly leave the strange and broken family. Not that many wanted to, it was hard to abandon or forget those who carried you through your darkest days when they themselves had precious little to give.

Families formed from those darkest days, forged in the fire of desperation and tempered by loyalty born from shared hardship. Bonds between many, made to last even the harshest of Gotham’s trials.

Like any family, children were eventually raised in many of them. Each of those young souls celebrated by the family and the entire community as a testament to endurance. New growth in the shadows even amongst the scorching light. 

The People of Gotham knew the value of loyalty, after all, how would one raise a child alone in a city as demanding as Gotham? 

Many a child was raised knowing more parents than two. Multiple families or entire communities banding together to raise their young ones as best they could. Communal parenting the norm amongst the people of Gotham, resources too few to risk going it alone.

It takes a village to raise a child, why not a city? 

Anything to give their young the best chance to escape the struggle of survival and get the chance to truly _live_.

Few children ever truly got those chances, but those who did never forgot who they were or where they came from. One of those children to grab that chance and to succeed was James Gordon.

The Whispers had flitted through the city like angry flies once he had announced he would join the police. One of their own joining the very organization that had caused so many of them untold grief? 

It had felt like betrayal.

It had damaged the precious trust the man had held with the rest of the people of Gotham. It had taken some time to rebuild what had been lost between them. 

It was an irrational reaction, but then, Gotham was not a city where rationality reigned. Gut instincts and intuition were what kept the people of Gotham safe night to night. Unfortunately, it made listing to reason that much more unfamiliar to them.

But with every encounter the children of the night had with the young officer they came to realize he was still one of their own.

Still loyal to the shadows that raised him. 

Still loyal to his beliefs.

The People of Gotham knew the value of loyalty, and they knew what it would cost James to hold on to his loyalties to the dark when working in the heart of the light. Bit by bit, it soothed their worries. They weren’t worried. Not anymore. 

Even when he left Gotham and its people behind to pursue his career they didn’t worry. Once a child of the night, always a child of the night. He would return, months, years or decades later. But return he would. They always did. 

Gotham wasn’t something you ever truly left behind. It was something that wound itself around your soul and settled into your bones and the darkest parts of your mind. It was something that would call to you whenever you heard a gunshot or siren in the dark. It was something that boiled in your blood whenever the lights of the city colored the clouds red at night. It was something you never forgot.

And so they let him go, as they had let so many other go before him. He would return, they always did. Years passed. Officer James Gordon left and returned, a wife and a heavier past in tow. The people of Gotham didn’t ask questions. Everyone had their own skeletons in the closet that rattled in the night.

The People of Gotham knew the value of loyalty. It wasn’t long before Officer Gordon patrolled the streets again like he had never left in the first place. Maybe in his mind he never had.

James Gordon quietly slotted back into their puzzle until hardly anyone remembered the time when he wasn’t at the precinct, a safe presence in a raging storm. Always quietly working to undo the wrongs his colleagues wrought. 

More of their young ones joined him in his endeavor, and slowly the blinding, scorching light of the police precinct became dappled with spots of shadow. Small specs of safety amongst the grinding teeth of the establishment that all too often tore at them until they bled.

It was a start. 

Then came the Bat, and just like that, the tides of power in Gotham shifted. Slowly. Silently. But surely.

The Bat brought something new and strange to Gotham, something they hadn’t had in a long, long time. Change. And it was something the children of the night desperately needed.

For the first time in as long as they could remember, the people of Gotham had someone to aid them in their struggles. Someone to keep their heads above the swirling gray waters of Gotham’s down pour of misery. Sometimes literally when one unlucky soul or another found themselves tossed into Gotham harbor with cinderblock shoes. 

The relief that swept through the Whispers whenever another one of their tormentors was taken off the streets in a cloud of smoke and bats was something new and heady to the people of Gotham. 

It was no wonder then when they didn’t notice the odd happenstances at first.

How the common criminals the Bat left for the police to find were always found near immediately.

How the evidence that the Bat delivered against the most powerful and corrupt of the city could disappear as many times as it wanted to but always turned up again.

How suddenly justice was as inescapable for the rich and powerful as it was for children of the night.

How Officer Gordon rose through the ranks until he became Commissioner Gordon after cracking a difficult case wide open. A familiar throwing projectile later found at the scene of the arrest.

How the Whispers said that the newly minted Commissioner often had just the wrong amount of chemical smoke scent clinging to his trench coat. Whispers about how sometimes two dark figures could be seen atop the precinct for a brief moment until one disappeared in the blink of an eye.

The People of Gotham knew the value of loyalty, any connections they made they kept to themselves. No one knew how to close ranks around one of their own quite like the children of the night after all. 

The children of the night didn't have much to offer their allies in return, any power necessary to assist being something they lacked. So they aided in the only way they knew how; with silence. Not a word would be spoken that the light could use against their protector and his ally.

So they kept quiet when the light Screamed how the Commissioner denounced the rumors that would be a cult hidden in the catacombs, building shrines to the Bat. Kept quiet when he scoffed during an interview at the notion that the Bat was doing good work. Kept quiet when he dismissed the rumors that he had teamed up with the Bat to take down some of Gotham's fiercest enemies.

And when the Whispers spoke of how he was seen at a new shrine under the police precinct lighting up the candles? When the Whispers spoke of how some of the notes at said shrine were written in handwriting suspiciously similar to his? Well, they kept that quiet too and didn't ask questions. 

James always did have a fascination of how the light and shadows melded.

They would only later realize how right they were.

It happened during one of Gotham's signature cold and dark nights, with the wind shrieking through the gaps of the city. The streets empty and deserted, a recent breakout of Arkham Asylum and string of murders across the city driving everyone inside or deep underground into the safety of the catacombs. But even there people didn't linger too long, fear gripping Gotham in an iron hold. 

With mad inmates roaming the streets and the greatest monsters Gotham had to offer once again hiding and killing within the very shadows they lived in, the people of Gotham would need a miracle to lift their spirits.

Let it never be said that Gotham was a city without wonder. Cruel and merciless, yes, but wonderous too.

Later the Whispers would describe it as a miracle, regardless of the fact that technically there was nothing miraculous about it. For all that technicality meant nothing in that moment. Not when even years later, when they had grown old and frail, they would still tell the young ones about the first time the sky lit up in cry for aid. 

And light up it did.

A bright light shone from the roof of the police headquarters, brighter than any other light in the city. Bright enough that it painted the undersides of the clouds a brilliant white gold when all of the city could barely manage a pale orange. A light that no one could ignore and drew the gaze of thousands of eyes skywards like gleaming moths. A light that Screamed louder than anything they had ever seen.

And it Screamed for their protection.

In the heart of the beam, emblazoned across the sky in shadow with wings spread in flight, was a bat. Dark and light and loud and _proud_ , the mark of their protector, a beacon in the night, a call that drew in the Bat like nothing else could.

A lighthouse that promised their salvation from madness in shadow and light.

The light that Screamed the loudest in the city, and it screamed out _their_ voice. _Their_ call. 

Children of the night they may be, but not even they could resist the call of both shadow and light.

They flocked to the rooftops and poured into the streets, eyes wide and glittering with wonder at the impossibility that was taking place in front of their eyes. One by one the children of the night left their houses and apartments, the cracks and crevices in society they called home, for the streets. Drawn to the symbol of the protector they had come to rely and depend on.

Whispers raced through the catacombs like white water, flushing the people held within out into the streets like hares from a burrow. Joining their fellow children of the night in their silent vigil.

Later, no one would know who was the first to make their way towards the beam of shadow and light, or if there even was a first. It wouldn't matter. As soon as the first step was set everyone followed the near instinctive pull they felt towards the source of the symbol.

The People of Gotham knew the value of loyalty, and the people they were more loyal to than the Bat were as rare as the sun in Gotham. What else were they to do but head towards a beacon so obvious?

A march that no one planned, a parade with no beginning. The People of Gotham simply walked forwards, their path drawn and illuminated by the glow of whatever they had on their person. Phones, flashlights, lighters, without a sign or order to speak of were silently held high to the sky. The sky where still the shadow of the Bat shone brightly.

The streets were choked with people, those who weren't on the streets were on the rooftops. All of them looking on quietly A dark sea of people dappled with dots of light. It looked like a miracle in and of itself.

From somewhere in that silent sea of people someone started the first song. A quiet humming that reverberated through the air like a struck tuning fork. Something small and fragile that gained strength the longer it lasted. 

_I stand at the edge of the night,_

_Watching the day's dying light._

_Light passes on, we come out with dark to play,_

_Here we stand, until the morning burns us away._

Like ink on blotting paper the song spread amongst the marching Gothamites, gaining confidence and strength the more the song was sung. Thousands of voices joining in on the song until it was echoing through the gothic spires and granite gargoyles. The voices of the people of Gotham rising up into the night like prayers on the wind, fearful, but with hope and fire buried within.

The Whispers would later tell of how their march looked from above. Rivers of people moving like glaciers, slow but unstoppable, dots of light dancing overhead like fireflies and all of it flowing to one focal point; the police precinct.

The plaza and streets surrounding the precinct were unrecognizable. A crowd of thousands surrounded the old building, solemnly singing and with makeshift lanterns held high. All gathered under the brilliantly bright shadow that still stretched across the cloudy skies, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for a sign.

More and more people poured into the streets from the surrounding area, gathering together until even the streets leading into plaza were full to bursting, with their songs carrying on the wind. A peaceful protest, a show of support that would shake Gotham to her bones. And all of them waiting, waiting for something, anything. 

Later the light would scream about riots and violence, murder and massacre. Supposedly committed by the children of the night gathered in the plaza in what would later be dubbed The Night's March. 

Not that they would be able to prove any of it, the police had been ordered not to get involved by the new commissioner and without anyone to tip the scales from peaceful to violent, footage of violence at The Night's March would be all but nonexistent. A decision that would later be praised by the same light for its show of faith in the people of Gotham.

No one ever said that the light wasn't fickle.

But that would all be later. In that moment, all eyes were watching the sky for a sign.

And a sign they got.

_Can you see? The stars shining bright,_

_Gleaming, paths made of the darkest of light._

_We are the children of the night,_

_This is our call to fight._

Heralded by faint high-pitched shrieks, the people of Gotham were alerted to a storm heading their way. One consisting of leather wings and swift, nimble bodies swarming the airspace above their heads.

Bats. Millions of them, as black as night. A swarm of incredible proportion swooping down from the skies to circle the police headquarters. Shrill shrieks and chirps filled the air, drowning out the singing of the people below. The bat swarm of near biblical size circled in the skies like schooling fish, drawn to the focal point underneath the shadowy beacon in the sky.

There was only one who could summon the bats in swarms like the one the children of the night were seeing. The Bat was here. 

A wave of triumphant noise rose up from the people like nothing heard before. People laughing and crying in elated joy and relief. Once started there was no stopping it. All the emotions that had been boiling underneath their skins since the breakout burst out. Fear, anger and uncertainty, all released in a shockwave of sound, cathartic and primal, until nothing but relief remained. 

Because somewhere above their heads, somewhere they could not see, was their protector. Concealed by his bats and under the cloak of darkness, the people pf Gotham would never be able to see him from even the highest roof. They didn't need to. The knowledge that the Bat was still there, still watching over them, was more than enough. 

_We will not abide; our flames are alight!_

_This is the story of how we begun._

_This is the story of the air in our lungs._

_We will not abide; our spirits will fight!_

None of them knew how long it lasted. All they knew was that by the time the bats dispersed, the light had gone from the sky and their throats had been shouted raw. 

After a while the crowds started to disperse, trickling back into the streets and alleys they had come from. Back into the catacombs and hideaways they called home. Within an hour it was like no one had ever been there to begin with, the children of the night safely back in the cracks and crevices of society, waiting for the next night to come.

Tomorrow they would find that most of the escaped inmates had been returned to Arkham and the papers would Scream that improvements to security were already being made. 

Tomorrow they would hear what the light had to say about the Night March.

But for tonight they celebrated and the Whispers would race around the city with stories about the night and relief that still coursed through them.

And the memories of that night would remain, the story of the first time the shadow of the Bat was shone into the sky by the device that would become known as the Beacon, would be told for many years to come. 

Passed down through the years to the next generation as the first time in living memory that the light spoke for them. The first time their voice was the loudest in Gotham. The first time the Whispers were louder than the Screams.

The People of Gotham knew the value of loyalty, they did not forget the one responsible for it. 

After all, it did not take a genius to figure out that there were only so many people in the police force who could have green lit the instalment of the Beacon. And the children of the night were far more intelligent than the light gave them credit for. 

No, they knew who had made the light speak for them, who had assisted the Bat and placed his symbol in the sky.

The People of Gotham, children of the night, knew the value of loyalty. And in the years to come they would gladly bear witness to the reign of the most beloved Commissioner Gotham City ever had.

_For we are the children, the children of the night!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? Did ya like it? There's a little box around yea down where you can tell me if you did (please,positive feedback is my life blood and literally the only thing that made me write more of this).
> 
> The other thing i wanted to say is that I am officially marking this "unfinished" in my head (not in chapter count, i know some of you won't click on anything with a question mark, don't lie) so any ideas or questions you post or ask in the comments are liable to get worked into future chapters if I'm feeling it.
> 
> As always, please report any typos as I am way too tired to look for them now and that will be all!


End file.
